A Matter of Temptation by Lorraine Heath Page B

marched to the transportation ships. Hoods are not worn then. Faces are revealed, so why bother to hide them at all?”
    She furrowed her delicate brow. “Oh, I see your point. I suppose it does seem a rather unnecessary practice, but I’m certain the decision wasn’t based on a whim. Surely there is a good reason that we’ve simply failed to consider.”
    “None that I can think of.”
    “Which isn’t proof that a good reason doesn’t exist. Only that we can’t fathom it. I’m sure all the decisions were made with a great deal of wisdom and forethought. Why does this place fascinate you so?”
    She moved in front of him so he was forced to either look into her eyes or peer over her head. Hechose her eyes and quickly wished he hadn’t. They reflected a pleading that he didn’t quite understand. His gaze drifted lower, to her lips, and he realized that he was making a thousand mistakes today, because looking at them reminded him of how close he’d come to kissing them earlier in the church.
    Her tongue darted out and moistened her lower lip. His body tightened in response. He jerked his gaze up to look over her, toward the prison, the model prison, the pride of England. It wasn’t fair that he’d spent eight years in that place; it wasn’t fair that John would spend only a few nights. It wasn’t fair that this woman cared for his brother.
    She cradled his cheek, forcing him to look at her once again.
    “Don’t leave me,” she said softly, pleadingly. “I don’t know where you go when you look at that horrid building, but somehow it takes you away. Even though you’re standing right here, you’re no longer with me. Please, let’s go now.”
    He placed his hand over hers, so small, soft, and warm. Even through the gloves, he felt the warmth. Turning his head slightly, he nodded as he pressed a kiss to the center of her palm and caught a stronger whiff of her perfume. She must have placed a drop on her wrist, and he wondered where else she might have placed droplets. Along her throat, between her breasts,behind a knee. Places he would dearly love to kiss, with or without the scent of her perfume to tantalize him.
    He turned away, fearful she would read the desire harboring within him. For eight years he’d not known the touch of a woman, the sound of a woman’s voice, the gentleness a woman brought into the world. But his brother had possessed all those things. Would he be as appreciative toward her as Robert found himself, or would he take everything for granted?
    He offered her his arm and led her back toward the coach. Once they were settled in and on their way, he soon found himself gazing at his wife, his brother’s love. And knowing a fury at the unfairness that continued to be visited upon him—a fury far greater than any he’d experienced before.
     
    Once they returned to the coach, Torie lost her inclination to try to start a conversation. She was as weary as he claimed to be, having gotten up before dawn to begin the preparations for her wedding. And while she was undeniably disappointed in Robert’s lack of enthusiasm for any topic she broached, she had to admit that perhaps her inability to engage him in any meaningful discussion was the result of his experiencing the same weariness, and not because he was suddenly finding fault with her, when he never had before.
    He’d always maintained a quiet reserve when they’d been together in public, but then they’d always either been in public or had a chaperone nearby fairly breathing down their necks. They’d never been totally and completely alone.
    It was the private man that she’d thought marriage would introduce her to. She’d not expected him to be more reserved. She’d thought that finally, alone, they’d come to know each other better, to stir within each other the passion that was lacking before. They had always been politely comfortable with each other, but even that seemed to have vanished.
    “It’s strange, isn’t