Page 43 of The Mister I Married

The door opened and Alex’s gaze locked on hers, his expression softening as if in relief. Was he worried she had run away?

Strangely, the thought amused her.

“Good evening,” he said, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. His voice and movements were measured, unhurried, so as not to startle her, presumably. He was so kind.

“Good evening,” she replied, matching his formal-yet-not-indifferent tone.

Her gaze swept over him, taking in his cravat-free throat and gloveless hands, and the bare feet sticking out from beneath his burgundy dressing gown.

“Did you enjoy yourself at dinner?” he asked, stepping away from the door and further into the room, closer to her.

“I did.” She clasped her hands together at her back. His eyes were darker by candlelight but no less beautiful. “The meal was divine. And your family is lovely.”

Alex smiled, his gaze sweeping over her face and down her body, stoking the flame simmering low in her belly.

“You are lovely, Emmy,” he said, his voice husky.

She swallowed, pleasure glowing within her. “You’re my husband. You have to say that.”

“No. I don’t.”

The warmth in his eyes bespoke more than just regard. He admired her. He truly thought she was lovely.

Flustered, she dropped her gaze to her nightgown and fiddled with the lace at one wrist. “My mother was disappointed there was no time to order new underthings for my wedding night. I suppose she thought it would…aid the cause, so to speak.”

She met his gaze and gave an awkward little laugh.

“Unnecessary, believe me,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips. “But I would be happy to buy you whatever you want, Emmy. You have only to ask.”

“Thank you.” She stepped forward, drawing closer to him, her chest rising and falling with each quickened breath. “I’ve never seen a man’s naked toes before. Except my brother’s, of course.”

She reached out and took his hands in hers, raising them up for inspection. “You have hairs on your fingers,” she mused, “so I suppose it stands to reason you would have hairs on your toes, as well.”

Alex seemed to be battling a smile. “Men do tend to be hairier than women, or so I understand. Of course, I could be mistaken…”

He cast a teasing glance at her feet, and Emmy arched a brow. “My toes are quite hairless, thank you very much.”

He chuckled and they stared at each other for a long moment before Alex cleared his throat.

“Shall we?” he said, extending a hand toward the bed.

The room was quite dim, but Emmy could just make out the slashes of pink coloring her husband’s cheeks. The realization that this was awkward for him, too, went a long way toward settling her own nerves. Still, her heart thundered as she walked the short distance to the bed where she paused, abysmally unsure of what to do next.

“Should we…disrobe first?” she asked, with more calm than she felt.

“Certainly. If that is what you wish.”

Was it what she wished? She hadn’t a clue. But he didn’t seem to either, so she forged on, taking hold of the hem of her nightgown and tugging the garment up and over her head. Then she scrambled onto the bed and practically dove beneath the covers.

Gooseflesh pebbled her skin as she lay cocooned between the cold satin sheets, and a moment later, the mattress sank beside her, signaling her husband’s arrival.

Her nude husband, presumably.

Her pulse stuttered and she turned her head to look at him as he slid beneath the sheets, his naked torso catching her eye—and stealing her breath.

Lord, but he was a sight to behold, inches upon inches of muscle and sinew and naked skin. Her throat was suddenly as dry as a desert isle.

“The sheets are rather chilly, aren’t they?” he said, his gaze meeting hers as he turned onto his side to face her. “I’m sorry about that. I should have thought ahead and had the bed heated.”