Free No Greater Love by Katherine Kingsley

ears. “My room? Oh, Nicholas! Oh, Nicholas, thank you! I had thought that…” She stopped abruptly, coloring.
    “You had thought what?” he asked, sounding perplexed.
    She forced herself to go on, for her relief was so great that she felt she ought at least to thank him properly. “I had thought that you would expect … well, you know. I had never thought you would be so kind and thoughtful—so understanding. I cannot express my gratitude enough.”
    He said nothing. He only pinched the bridge of his nose, and then after a moment he leaned over and picked up the candelabrum. “Don’t mention it,” he said. “This way, Georgia.”
    She followed him, carefully walking in his path so as to avoid the occasional rotted board. Her heart was so full of relief that she felt positive fraternity with him. He stopped at a bedroom door and opened it for her, putting the candelabrum down on a table close to where logs gently hissed in the fireplace, giving off a pleasant heat.
    “Here you are, Georgia. You’ll find your clothes in the wardrobe, and I believe that Binkley has provided hot water. Good night.”
    He abruptly stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him, not giving her a chance to reply. She took a deep breath and looked about her. The room had been made comfortable, like a proper bedroom, with a dressing table, the wardrobe, a carpet on the floor, and blankets and pillows and all the rest. She had never expected so much. It was by far the most comfortable bedroom she’d ever been offered. She could scarcely believe her good fortune.
    With the burden she’d been carrying for the last ten days so unexpectedly dismissed, she quickly undressed, put her best dress carefully away in the wardrobe, pulled on her warmest nightdress, and fell fast asleep.
    Nicholas was not so lucky. He entered his own bedroom, where at least the ceiling was intact but the windowpane was broken. Although Binkley had apparently attempted to cover the gap with a board, a chill draft still streamed through. There was a fire burning, but it smoked and stung at his eyes. He undressed and threw himself into bed, shivering under the damp blankets. This was not exactly how he had intended to spend his wedding night. No man should have to spend his wedding night in solitude, not with a young and attractive wife sleeping only a wall away. But then, he had forgotten to take into account the feet that Georgia was a widow and no doubt still clung to the love and memories of physical affection her late husband had provided her. It would be churlish in the extreme to intrude himself on that. He would have to wait until she was ready to accept him, and wait graciously, he knew. Under these circumstances, behaving as a gentleman was his idea of hell.
    He’d suspected it had all been too easy.
    He wondered just how long it would be before Georgia decided to welcome him to her bed. Gallantry should never have been invented. Sainthood was not his style. He was a normal man, flesh and blood, and that flesh was burning and aching and needing release. It had been far too long since he’d had a woman, months in fact, and he’d been looking forward to this night. He had been attracted to Georgia from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her, had had his blood inflamed by that one amazingly sweet kiss, and his imagination had been playing havoc with him ever since he had seen Georgia in her turret wearing nothing more than a simple nightdress.
    He had made her his wife, hadn’t he? He had spent the last ten days congratulating himself on his choice, thinking about all the fine long nights they would have—starting with this one.
    But virtue was virtue.
    He should have thought the situation through first, instead of assuming that Georgia would automatically welcome him as her husband. He should have made his intentions clear to her, instead of standing there like an idiot while she thanked him for his understanding. His understanding? The only