Free More than Passion by Jomarie Degioia Page A

seat. He looked so noble in his fine clothes. His elevated status struck her square in the face.
    “Geoffrey, what will your family think of me?”
    He smiled at her. “You are my countess, Becca. They’ll accept you.”
    “I’ll try to be what you need in a wife.”
    His eyes sparkled. “You are precisely what I need in a wife.”
    She flushed and ran her hands over the skirt of her dress. She’d chosen the violet one with Mary’s assistance. “At least I look the part. Thank you again for the dresses.”
    “It’s nothing, love.” He studied her for a moment. “When did you know that you loved me?”
    She was struck by the vulnerability in his eyes. “I don’t know precisely. But I thought I might that morning in your room.”
    “Ah …. When Mary found us?”
    She shook her head. “No. The morning I came to your room when you were sleeping.”
    Remembrance dawned on him, a sweet recollection of that first morning when she’d stolen into his room and stood hesitantly over his bed. He’d been afraid to breathe, certain she would vanish once he fully awoke. She hadn’t. No, she’d leaned over. She’d come closer.
    “When you kissed me …,” he now leaned closer to her, “like this?”
    He brushed her lips lightly, then crushed his mouth down on hers. He pressed her to him, moving his mouth to the side of her neck. He caressed her breasts through her dress and she arched toward him, straining for his touch.
    “Husband?” she asked softly.
    “Yes, love?” he answered, his breath hot on her skin.
    “Forget yourself,” she whispered.
    “What?”
    “Don’t remove your boots. I can’t bear to wait.”
    Grinning broadly, he happily honored his wife’s request.
    * * * *
    The carriage rolled on as they collected themselves and again sat on the cushioned seat. She brushed at the skirt of her new dress. “Look at these wrinkles! What will your family think?”
    Geoffrey smiled. “Don’t worry. After a long trip in a carriage, wrinkles are to be expected.”
    “They are?” she sounded skeptical.
    “Speaking of dresses,” he added, changing the subject, “we shall have the dressmaker ready some gowns for you.”
    “Gowns?”
    “Yes, love. We’ll be expected to throw a ball celebrating our marriage.”
    A ball? How would she host such an event? “I’ve never been to a ball, much less hosted one.”
    “Surely Raven’s Inn hosted parties now and again,” he said.
    “Yes,” she admitted, embarrassed once again by the menial role she’d played at the inn.  Her father never allowed her to attend, let alone preside over such gatherings. He always told her it was for her own protection. To keep her safe from unwanted advances.  But it made her feel as though he were ashamed of her. 
    “Don’t fret. My mother possesses vast experience at throwing the most wonderful bashes. I’m most certain she’d be very pleased to take over the task, tutoring you in the process.”
    “Do you think so? I so want your mother to like me.”
    He took her hands in his. “How could anyone not like you?”
    She felt a flush creep over her cheeks and dipped her head. “Tell me about your mother.”
    Geoffrey leaned back, still holding her hand. “Well, my father passed away two years ago, so her mourning period is over. Lady Margaret loved him dearly, but she’s enjoying getting out again,” he said.  “You’ll like her, Becca. You’re a lot like her. You both have hearts as big as the ocean.” He paused, a half-smile on his lips. “I daresay she dotes on me shamelessly.”
    Becca stroked his cheek. “Who could blame her?”
    He kissed her hand and settled back against the seat.
    “What of the rest of your family?” she asked.
    “My brother, John, and his wife live at Kanewood, as well. John is one year younger than me, twenty-seven. They have a little girl, Ann. She’s three years old. John and Patricia are constantly out and about, at one function or another. They rarely see her.”  He was