Free The Seduction of His Wife by Tiffany Clare Page B

father’s old hunting cottage.”
    She didn’t hesitate to follow his lead this time, all her art things tucked against her bosom and held by one arm.
    Finally making the front porch of the cottage, he lifted the latch and pushed the door open. Both of them stood for a moment trying to catch their breath.
    “Why are we stopping here?”
    “Because it’ll be a mudslide over the paths to the main house.”
    She looked at him, frustrated at having been caught in the rain—with him. It was an expression he was quickly getting used to seeing. He’d bet his finest cravat pin that she was annoyed that her plan to escape him this morning hadn’t been successful.
    She untied her shawl and shook some of the water from it in the open doorway with her free hand, not once meeting his gaze as she did so. “I suppose we’ll only stay long enough to wait out the storm.”
    Taking his hat off, he wiped the water from the top and brim and set it on the worktable to dry.
    “Come inside and close the door. I’ll start a fire so we can dry out our clothes.”
    “The storm will leave as fast as it arrived. We’ll be on our way shortly.”
    Her voice wavered. Was his wife nervous to be in his company alone? Interesting that she was shy now when she’d given him such bold words last night. He didn’t want meek and timid. He wanted fiery and passionate.
    Richard looked beyond the sodden, dripping frame of Emma to the roiling black clouds shot through with flashes of white lightning outdoors. It was not going to pass anytime soon. The weather had been building in this direction all morning.
    He sighed out his frustration. “While we’re here, we can discuss the course of last evening.”
    “I see no reason to discuss anything.” Her chin tilted up, her eyes narrowed. There was the fire sparking there that he’d wanted to see so badly only moments ago.
    He threw some peat into the old woodstove, struck a flint, and lit the moss.
    The wind was picking up outdoors, sweeping away any warmth the fire gave off. “Come inside, Emma. We’ll probably be here another hour.”
    “I certainly hope not.”
    He clenched his fists at his sides. Her penchant for disdain needed to stop. His company couldn’t be that detestable.
    “It won’t be the end of the world to spend an hour in my company,” he snapped.
    She twirled around and finally looked at him. It was on the edge of his tongue to say she’d not escape him now and certainly not again this evening, but something held him back. They were stuck with each other for an indeterminate amount of time. He had no plans to spend that time fighting. He’d rather spend his time seducing and cajoling her into a better disposition.
    Loose strands of wet hair ran over her temple and stuck to the sides of her cheeks. Her lips trembled from the cold and were tinged with a slight blue. She was shivering. Knowing she’d hesitate if he asked her to come closer, he walked toward her, relieved her of her art things, and set them on the table. When he turned back to her, he reached out and released the first few hidden eyelets on her bodice.
    She smacked his hands away. He grasped her fingers to stop her. They were so small in his hands, so soft against his roughness.
    “I just want to keep you from getting a chill.”
    He released a few more of the tiny hooks before she stepped away from him, her hand slowly sliding away from his so she could cover the swell of her bosom. He raised a brow, shrugged out of his coat, and draped it over the back of the chair near the fire.
    “Pass me your shawl.” He held out his hand and waited for the scrap of material.
    She didn’t object, nor did her eyes meet his again. She stuck her arm out as far as she could—so she wouldn’t have to come closer to him, he assumed.
    He took the wet mass of lace and spread it out on top of his coat. Of course he didn’t stop there. It wouldn’t do for his wound to start festering beneath wet, chilly layers of material. His