Free The Viscount's Counterfeit Wife by J. Jade Jordan Page B

Why should
she be feeling bad about him?
    He was clearly mulling
something over. She was suddenly eager to leave, not anxious to hear
what he was thinking. She’d waited too long, though. He seemed
unable to hold back the question he was burning to ask her.
    “How long have we
been married?”
    She stiffened. She’d
been dreading questions about their married status. They were
inevitable, she knew, but hoped that, knowing the doctor’s orders
wouldn’t allow her to respond, he’d refrain from asking.
    “You know I can’t
answer that.” She busied herself by picking up his tray and placing
it on the chest of drawers near the door.
    When she turned around
he was standing by the bed, holding on to the headboard. He looked
unsteady, though pleased with himself for making it to his feet on
his own.
    “Oh but, you
mustn’t.” She hurried to help him, worried he was going to fall
over and hit his head again.
    “I can’t stand
being in bed a minute longer,” he complained.
    “In that case, you
can sit over here.” She shifted to support him with her shoulder
and help him to move sideways. He allowed her to help him into the
armchair near the bed, but just when she was about to move away, he
captured her hand and drew her over and down to sit sideways on his
lap.
    Oh
my lord! What was he doing?
    More to the point, what
was she going to do?
    But it seemed that her
sham husband knew exactly what to do, taking the matter entirely out
of her control. He captured her hands in his and lifted them to his
mouth, to kiss the tip of each digit before sliding one of them into
his mouth to swirl his tongue around it.
    A delicious quiver of
delight scurried up her spine.
    His eyes never left
hers while he skimmed his long, graceful fingers up her arm.
    Another wild shiver
shook her, though she kept her eyes glued downward. Self-conscious
was a tame word to describe the extent of her discomfort. She felt
like a child plunked onto a strange uncle’s lap.
    He drew her closer. One
of those elegant hands slid up under her hair to curl around the nape
of her neck and his mouth moved slowly to meet her lips with a touch
as soft as a baby’s first kiss.
    “We mustn’t,” she
protested weakly.
    “Why not?” He
grinned crookedly. “We’re married.”
    Heavens! What had she
gotten herself into? “But… you’ve been … you have no memory
of that, of me.”
    “So… we’ll make
new memories.” He tried to lure her closer with his charm.
    The temptation to give
in to his blandishments was almost irresistible.
    She’d been starved of
attention since her Aunt died and was enticed by what he offered. She
craved someone’s touch and affection. And given her choice of
career — this might be her only chance to experience how a man and
woman were together. She wanted to know what the mystery was all
about. Wanted to feel what a woman felt with a man.
    “What kind of
memories?” she was shocked to hear herself ask.
    The heat in his look
made her tremble, partly in alarm and partly in anticipation.
    “Like these.” He
gently tugged her nearer and placed another light kiss on her lips.
    The fear and excitement
pounding through her almost deafened her to everything around her.
She was shaking from her chignon to the tip of her toes.
    He must have sensed her
anxiety because he simply tucked her against his side and ran a
calming hand up and down her back to comfort her. His other hand
ruffled her hair gently and he murmured tender words in her ear.
    She breathed in his
delicious scent. He always smelled so good. There was no fancy
cologne, just his personal musk, but it sent tingles sparkling
through her. His arm around her felt good, her head against his
chest, divine.
    If only she could enjoy
it!
    She didn’t know what
he was going to do or how she should respond. Her whole body felt
like it was on fire with anticipation. Breathe
in , she told herself. Breathe
out. But calm composure continued to elude. It took a few
moments to