A Matter of Temptation by Lorraine Heath

in the coach behind this one, and Robert couldn’t very well never call him by name.
    Torie had also brought along her lady’s maid, a woman named Charity who seemed rather young, but capable, and very fond of her mistress.
    “As I understand it, it’s quite a long journey,” she said.
    “Yes.”
    “Shall we play one of our word games to pass the time?”
    Dash it all! They had little games that they played .
    “It’ll make the time pass more quickly,” she continued. “We’ll play Alphabetical Geography. Give me a letter.”
    “A letter?”
    “Of the alphabet. You remember. You say, ‘W,’and I say, ‘I’m going to Windsor for water and waltzing.’ Then I’ll give you a letter. I know you enjoy it more when several people are around to play, but we can make it work with only the two of us.”
    “I don’t mean to disappoint you, but it’s been a long morning and I’m weary,” he said, rather than confess that he didn’t know anything about the word games she’d played with his brother, and while this one seemed fairly easy, it wasn’t of interest to him. The games he longed to play involved her mouth, pressed up against his. The games played by men and women, not those favored by children.
    “Of course. How silly of me. It’s been a long morning for us both. Will you try to sleep, then?”
    “Possibly.”
    She gazed out the window, her smile withering, and he feared he might have hurt her tender feelings. She was so incredibly lovely and smelled so enticingly sweet, like a flower that kept all its petals tucked neatly away only to blossom at dawn and release the fragrance that made it special, like no other.
    Her rose and lily scent filled the coach and wafted around him. He took one deep breath after another, holding each and savoring the sweetness, allowing it to wash away years of stench filling his nostrils. Sitting with her in the coach was achieving what his bath that morning hadfailed to accomplish: granting him the feeling of normalcy.
    In retrospect, he probably should have sought an excuse to leave her in London, but what would the gossips say about a man who abandoned his wife as soon as vows were spoken? They would no doubt question his virility. While he himself would question his sanity, for no sane man would willingly distance himself from her, not for a day, certainly not for a night.
    Yet there he was: inches from her instead of nestled up against her, whispering sweet love words into her ear while plying her neck with his kisses. To get to that neck, he’d have to release a few buttons, because she was done up as tightly as a drum. Although they were married, he was no doubt expected to follow tradition and be the pursuer.
    Did women even know precisely what happened during the wedding night? It wasn’t as if they could visit a brothel and learn all the particulars. Although he had visited one the night he’d turned eighteen, his enjoyment of the offerings had been cut short when he was drugged and carted away. Over the years he’d had many a lonely night of imagining exactly what he might do with a woman. He might lack experience, but he damned well didn’t lack imagination, and he was having a difficult time reining it in now. It was taking liberties that he couldn’t, and even as he cursed it, he welcomed it.
    She was a temptation in which he couldn’t indulge. Yet he found himself blessedly content to simply be within the coach with her. To not be alone. Even if the silence stretched between them, he was not alone.
    Then a horrible thought occurred to him. Was he giving himself away by not speaking to her?
    She’d begun every conversation, if the few sentences passing between them could be considered conversation. He realized she didn’t appear to be enjoying the view beyond the window. Rather she seemed sad, as lonely as he.
    He was going to have to do something, come up with some safe topic of conversation, perhaps even agree to play a silly game. He looked out