Page 14 of Pride of Lyons

“Will you please allow me to call you Honoria? I believe it will help as we get to know one another.”

The breath whooshed out of her lungs as relief spread through her like cool water on a hot day. “Of course, my lord. I should have asked you to do so before now.” There had been no time to think of such things when she hadn’t been sure she would actually marry him. “Please do call me Honoria.”

“I am honored, Honoria.” That lazy smile came out again, making her melt a little inside. “I would be pleased if you would call me Thomas.”

“Of course, my l—” She clamped her gloved hands over her mouth.

He laughed and drew her hands away. “Try again.”

“I beg your pardon, Thomas.” She laughed, too, and the knot in the middle of her stomach loosened just a bit. He did seem kind. Given time, this marriage might turn out well.

“As I said before, you will have many changes you will need to become used to now you are married, such as using my first name when we are in private.” He gave her hands a squeeze. “We will get used to one another, though.”

Honoria drew her hands away, that word private reverberating in her head. Her mind kept circling back to it, and to the intimacies she would be required to endure when they were in private. Would she indeed be able to do it, to submit to her husband when he came to her bed tonight? The words sent a cold chill down her spine. Surreptitiously, she glanced at Lord Braeton, who seemed lost in his own thoughts, his mouth set in a firm line. Not a man she wished to cross, but not one she wanted in her bed either. Not yet, at least. Given time to know him better and, perhaps, she would desire intimacy with him. But not tonight.

Gazing down at her hands, she clenched them into fists. She might have been coerced into this marriage, but she would not be forced into the bed of a stranger. Raising her chin, she summoned her courage and turned to stare into the warm, amber-colored eyes of the man next to her. “My lord, I must inform you that I cannot share your bed tonight.”

There it was. If her words angered him, so be it. She could deal with the anger better than the idea of submitting to his basest desires. She braced herself for the outpouring of wrath from her husband.

To her utmost surprise, he didn’t protest. Didn’t draw himself up to pontificate about the expected duties of a wife. He didn’t even frown. What he did do was cock his head and give her that slow, easy smile she found so charming. “Of course not, my dear. I would not expect you to, under the circumstances.”

Stupefied, Honoria almost fell off the seat. Her mouth dropped open although she couldn’t summon any words.

With a chuckle, he put a finger under her chin and closed her mouth. It made a silly little pop. “Have you been worrying about that all this time, Honoria?”

She nodded slowly, lowering her gaze as heat blazed in her cheeks. At the same time, relief so great she thought she might swoon washed over her. He was a kind man, who understood her sensibilities.

“Then I’m sorry I didn’t set your mind at ease before this,” Thomas patted her hands, “but I never seemed to find the right time when we were alone together. The day of our betrothal there were so many other things to think about and arrange. And once we arrived at your parents’ house, there were not many chances.” He looked truly remorseful. “I beg your pardon for any anguish my thoughtlessness has caused you.”

Relief made Honoria almost giddy. “You are most heartily forgiven, my lord.” She caught his eye and hastily added, “Thomas. I am happy we agree that we need more time to become acquainted before we….” The words seemed to stick in her throat. “Before we…”

His eyes seemed to laugh, though his mouth remained sober. “Before we indulge in our connubial rites.”

Again, her cheeks were aflame at the mention of the word.

“I do wish to know my bride better, my dear, and we will take some weeks at Knowlton’s Keep to do that very thing.” His eyes darkened to chestnut. “I want a willing wife to come to my bed, not merely a dutiful one and certainly not a frightened one.”

Thank goodness for that. “How long do you think…?”

He grasped her hands and gave them a reassuring squeeze. “As long as it takes, my dear, and so,” he doffed his tall hat and relaxed back against the seat, “why don’t you tell me something of what your life was like growing up at the vicarage? It seems like a wonderful place to have raised a family.”

Bless this wonderful man. Eager to talk now her biggest fears had been allayed, Honoria launched into a tale about life as the daughter of a vicar in Lower Clapham, while the carriage wound its way through the tangled streets of London. She would gladly play Scheherazade for him, for a thousand nights if that was what it took. Should her husband continue to act so gallantly, however, she suspected the number of tales she needed to tell would be much lower. At least, she certainly hoped so.

Although Thomas had meant exactly what he said about putting off their wedding night, he’d come to realize rather quickly that embracing abstinence with Honoria so close at hand would be not simply a bit of a nuisance, but downright torture for him. He’d been stoically resigned to the marriage at the beginning. Honor had been his driving motivation until he’d seen Honoria enter the room. Not a great beauty, still her face was arresting. Heart-shaped, with smooth, creamy skin, and eyes the color of a cloudless summer’s day. Her generous mouth, with plump red lips, looked as though it should be kissed and often. A regimen he planned to implement quite soon. Thomas had dismissed Danford’s statement, “You haven’t seen her, Braeton. When you do, you’ll understand,” as the hyperbole of a man obsessed. Now he thought he understood something of Danford’s obsession.

To his surprise and relief, the carriage was nearing his London townhouse. He loved listening to his wife, whose animated storytelling had entertained him immensely for the past hour. But his proximity to her charms had taken a toll on his willpower. His groin ached every time he looked at the woman sitting next to him. Well, he’d need to relieve himself as soon as possible, lest he end up with the horn colic.

“I am sorry for nattering on so long, Thomas.” Honoria smiled at him, increasing his agony.

“Nonsense, my dear. I have enjoyed finding out about your childhood and your life at the vicarage.” He had been entertained, and immensely enjoyed the lilting sound of her voice.

“But we seem to have arrived at your townhouse, and I have yet to discover anything about you.” She made a little moue. Utterly charming.

“Do not fret. We have all of dinner for me to drone on about my growing-up years. Much less amusing than yours, I assure you.” The carriage halted in front of Braeton House and Thomas rose, with some difficulty. He only hoped Honoria didn’t discover the reason for his somewhat strained movements.

The groom opened the door, and Thomas hurried down the steps, then turned to assist his bride. Thankfully her gaze darted all about the stately marble façade towering three stories high and paid no mind to his halting gait as they headed for the entry door, which opened as if by magic when they neared the door.

“Welcome home, my lord.” Hawkins, his butler of five years, had an uncanny knack for opening the door just as Thomas approached it.