Page 73 of A Sham Engagement

He pulled her closer once more, and his hand went to her breast again, feeling the softness of the flesh as he drew down the neckline of her gown.

“Hold me tight and kiss me again.” Her whisper shivered through him. He bent his head and found her mouth, responsive now, as though keen to explore this new experience to the full.

“Don’t stop.” Desperation in her voice.

Somehow, they were on the chaise longue and she was underneath, her gown awry and her breast half exposed. He mustn’t allow himself to get carried away. This was his betrothed, not someone he intended to make his mistress. But she was entering into her newfound love of touching with a vengeance, as though born to it. Her hands seized his hips and pulled him tighter against her body. What did she know of lovemaking? Nothing, and yet it seemed instinct had told her she wanted him.

He pulled away, the shock of what he was doing slamming into him. “I can’t.”

She smiled up at him, blue eyes wide with innocence. “I think you can.”

His arousal was not diminishing, despite his efforts to think of something else. “We’re not married. It would be wrong.” Would it? Wasn’t this what he’d always done? Was he suddenly such a prude? But this was Elenora.

“You are my betrothed.”

How uncomfortable his tight breeches felt.

Her hand went to the buttons on his fall. “I know you want me.”

He shook his head. “I do, but not like this. I want it to be on our wedding night, not hurriedly like this, driven by lust.”

Her blue eyes shone. “Our wedding night, Lord Broxbourne? Is that another proposal? And are you telling me that this is lust I’m feeling? I did wonder what it might be like, but never thought I’d feel it. The young ladies in Augusta’s books claim to feel it.”

Whatever sort of books was her sister reading? “Nothing but lust.”

Her eyes narrowed. “And love?”

He nodded, his self-control returning. “Bound up in it.”

She righted her disarrayed gown, not making much of a success of it. “And is what I’m feeling for you love?”

“I hope so.”

She pursed her lips. “And are you telling me you love me?”

He swallowed. “I am, and I do. I have done for a while now, I think. You’re a woman who is hard to resist. Will you do me the honor, Elenora, of being my wife? So we can continue what we’ve started here?”

A slow smile spread across her face. “I believe someone once said to me that a lady is allowed to change her mind. I think it was Mama. And I should like to tell you that my opinion of marriage has changed somewhat.” She put up a hand and touched his cheek. “I think I would like to be a married lady, after all.”

“And I think,” Jack said, “that we had better get ourselves a Common License and be married as soon as possible. I don’t think I can wait more than a few days to have you to myself.”

Elenora smiled. “And I think you might be right.” Her eyes flicked wide open. “And we’d better tell Alcock I no longer need the carriage.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Elenora looked down at her hands and her short-chewed nails. If Mama had been able to come up from Penworthy for the wedding, she would have been horrified at their state. But she hadn’t, as Phoebe had taken a turn for the worse and Mama refused to leave her, even for her oldest daughter’s nuptials, which were, perforce, more than a little hurried.

Which had to be a good thing, as her presence would have only served to irritate both Elenora and Jack. Elenora because Mama would be clucking away like a hen with one chick at how well she’d engineered the match, which she hadn’t. Jack because he didn’t tolerate fussy women, not even if they were the mother of his beloved. He’d confided this to Elenora when she’d apologized for Mama’s absence.

And now, the wedding was over. She and Jack had been married in the rather imposing church of St James in Piccadilly, by the Reverend Gerrard Andrewes, not far from Arlington Street, and only around the corner from Jolyon’s lodgings. Which had meant that on Elenora’s side there had been Aunt Penelope, a singularly green with envy Petunia, and both Jolyon and Matthew, who had persisted in offering up conspiratorial winks to Jack throughout the service.

Of course, Jack’s parents had been there as well—the white-haired earl and his intimidating wife, although after a week of getting to know her prospective mother-in-law, Elenora was no longer finding her quite so overbearing. At least that was what she’d told Jack.

They’d returned to Portland Place for the wedding breakfast, none of which Elenora had been able to touch, and now their guests had departed and they were alone.

Elenora fought to control the impulse to start nibbling her nails again. If only Jack had not been so determinedly decent a week ago. In the heat of the moment, with her blood heating in her veins and every nerve singing with desire, she’d have been happy to have continued and given herself to him. But he’d pulled back, insisting on them waiting for their wedding night. And, for the last week, that night had been growing to monstrous proportions in Elenora’s head, taking on a personality of its own. A frightening, off-putting personality.

She’d tried once or twice to rekindle the way she’d been feeling about Jack as they’d kissed on the chaise longue, and failed. Would those feelings ever recur? And what would her wedding night be like if she continued to feel like this? She thought about Jack all the time, but she just couldn’t rekindle the way she’d felt about him last week, and it was beginning to frighten her. Above all, she didn’t want to disappoint him.