Bride Enchanted by Edith Layton

peal of unrestrained laughter. “Just the right thing to say to a bride,” she said when she’d done, and he sat watching her, puzzled. “You’re either so in love that you can’t see straight, which I don’t see. Or you’re foxed. Or you’re trying to make me feel better about how our serving girl is mooning over you. Because I think that any minute she’ll serve herself up on a plate with your pudding.” She giggled, picturing it.
    â€œI look neat, tidy,” she went on. “But not much more, I seldom do. I’m wearing a russet frock, and it’s true that it’s very nice. I brushed my hair and it curled right up again. Still, in no way do I look wonderful .”
    â€œTo me,” he said simply, “you do. So. You think I ought to order up cakes instead of pudding, for fear of getting a lass in my dessert?”
    They laughed. By the time they’d finished, it was quiet in the old inn, the serving girl had finally, with many a backward look, left them. Only the sound of the crackling hearth fire competed with their murmurous talk. Eve had one more glass of port.
    â€œIf you were trying to make me addled,” she said with a lopsided grin, “you’ve succeeded.”
    â€œCome,” he said, rising “I wasn’t trying. And it’s definitely time for you to sleep.”
    This time he escorted her up the stairs and into the bedchamber. Then he bowed and said, “I’ll be back soon. Go to bed, Eve.”
    When the door closed behind him, she looked around, made sure the shutters were closed, and quickly drew her gown over her head. She hurried to her trunk. She tossed open the lid and found the finely embroidered gown she’d gotten from a friend for her wedding night. She flung it on, and shivering, jumped into the bed. One lamp was lit. She wondered if she should lie down or sit up, waiting for him. He’d said they wouldn’t make love tonight. But they were going to sleep together. Who knew what would happen? She could hope, or worry. She did both.
    The room grew chill, so she lay down and pulled the coverlets up.
    She was drowsing, between sleep and ragged bits of dreams, when she felt the high feather tick tilt down on one side. She sat up, surprised, blinking, trying to rub the sleep from her eyes. Aubrey sat in the bed beside her. He wore a white nightshirt.
    â€œSleep,” he said, gently turning her, guiding her down to the feather tick with him. “We’ll both sleep, together, as though we’ve done it all our lives.” His voice became soft and dreamy as he drew her down into his embrace. He lay behindher, an arm tucked over her waist, his lips to her ear. “Sleep now,” he purred, “sleep as though we were two birds in a nest, two fawns in the heather, two sheep in a clover-filled meadow, sleep, and dream of morning. Sleep, Eve. Sleep.”
    When she finally lay breathing slow and steady, he laid his own head on the pillow behind hers.
    Her hair smelled clean and lightly perfumed. He felt the stirrings of desire as she sighed in her sleep and drew up her knees so she could curl up closer, pressing her rounded bottom until it fit tightly and so sweetly into the curve of his body. He suppressed the urge to wake her with kisses and caresses. He’d waited too long and worked too hard for such simple surcease. Desire was nothing to him. What he wanted was everything. All had to go right. However much he wanted her, he would not conceive his first child here. They had to go home.
    He lay awake, eyes open, planning. He didn’t sleep for a long time. But he was not unhappy.
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    â€œIt’s nothing like I thought it would be,” Eve blurted.
    â€œDisappointed?” Aubrey asked, as he lay back so she could see it better.
    â€œNo, fascinated,” she said, bending to look out the window on his side. She turned her head andgazed out the other window as the coach