yesterday I was helping Laura Lee fix breakfast for a hundred people.”
“I meant with the buttons on the back of the gown. You can’t reach them.”
Her breath caught. He was right. She could not. Either she could fry up potatoes in her wedding gown and risk a splatter, or she could allow him to help her take it off.
Then what? Put on the red costume again because she did not care if eggs exploded on it? Be humiliated? Or flip eggs wearing her corset and petticoats? Cooking in her underwear would still be humiliating but it would also be prettier.
There were two more dresses upstairs, but she would not risk ruining them, either.
“How hungry are you, William?”
He spun her about and opened two pearly buttons at her nape. The heat of his breathing brushed her skin. “Hungrier than I thought.”
“Are there eggs and bacon in the kitchen? Bread for toast?”
“I assume so—but it’s been a long day. Let’s think about food tomorrow.”
“But you said you were hungry.”
His breath skimmed the back of her neck, his fingers clenched briefly on her shoulders. “Very—but I’m also tired.”
“Let’s sleep, then.” At least she didn’t have to risk ruining anything lovely by cooking in it.
Cool air touched her back when two more buttons fell open, which reminded her. “What happened to my wedding kiss?”
Why was it that, around William, she blurted out what was on her mind so readily?
“I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you married me.”
Three buttons popped free all at one time.
“And I’m grateful that you kept me from being blown out of a cannon.”
The hall clock ticked away a long silence. Outside, the wind didn’t sound loud as it had.
With a quick flick of his fingers, William freed the button at the small of her spine. The front of the gown sagged so she grabbed it close to her chest.
“Can you manage the stairs?” he asked, taking a deep breath, then several steps away from her. “If it’s too trying I can give you a downstairs bedroom.”
Ivy and Travis shared a bedroom.
“I managed them fine a short while ago.” It would not be a hardship to share a bed with William. “I’m no longer an invalid. You don’t need to fear for my health.”
“I owe you, Agatha.” Dragging his fingers through his hair, he frowned at the floor then looked up at her. “I’ll take care to make sure no harm comes to you.”
“Really, I don’t know why it would. I believe that I’ve proved that I can take care of myself—unless someone is forcing me into a cannon and I doubt that will happen again.”
“I imagine not. But you are mine to protect, nonetheless.”
The bodice of her dress flopped down when she balled her fists and anchored them at her waist, but she did not care at the moment.
“If a situation arises in which I do not feel comfortable, I will let you know—then you may protect me to your heart’s content.” She wagged her finger at him, which was not quite polite but her temper was heating by the second. How odd was it that for most of her life she hadn’t known she had a temper. It must have been drugged out of her. “But I must—and will deal with problems on my own.”
“Of course.”
He caught her hand, folded it up in his. “I was speaking of getting you with child.”
An image of tangled bed sheets and entwined limbs flashed in her mind. Secret kisses and touches. Heat pulsed in every nerve of her body, especially—
“I won’t endanger you that way.”
What? She yanked her hand free, remembered that her bodice was dangling about her waist and decided to let it remain there.
“I might have something to say about that, William.”
Outside the creak and rattle of a wagon passing by filled a long silence between them. A dog barked. Tanners Ridge was coming to life.
So was Agatha Marigold English.
“Mighty glad the wind has stopped.”
Walking down the boardwalk toward Hamilton London’s Steak House and looking forward to a late lunch, William patted Agatha’s hand where it nestled in the crook of his arm.
He liked the way it fit. While not even twelve hours into marriage, he thought his union with Agatha might be a success, for all that it was unanticipated.
Agatha sure did look fetching in the green gown he’d purchased in the wee hours of the morning. With her red hair and green eyes—there was no denying that Mrs. William English was a beautiful woman.
Funny how he’d never noticed that. In his eyes she had always been Foster Magee’s sickly girl.
For all her loveliness, she did seem nervous.
And why wouldn’t she be? He was nervous and he was accustomed to speaking with people. He would have to take care not to overtax her with social events. Although there would be some she would need to attend.
Or perhaps her agitation had nothing to do with facing society’s challenges.
It could be that her nervousness had to do with him.
No doubt she was uneasy about so suddenly becoming a wife. He could hardly blame her for that.
Last night, he’d tried to assure her that she had nothing to fear from him, that he would never force his husbandly attentions upon her, but that conversation had only left her looking even more distressed.
It hadn’t felt right bringing up such an intimate topic with an innocent—but it had been necessary. In most cases, sexual intimacy was at the heart of a marriage.
But not this marriage.
Had he married Ivy or Aimee, even, things would be different. They were healthy women and his husbandly attentions would not put them at such a great risk.
His wife was not like them—although it seemed as though she thought she might be.
Unfortunately for him, each hour he spent with his bride tempted him to wonder what it would be like to share the marriage bed with her.
Fantasizing was as far as he would take it, though, because the line between fantasy and nightmare could be a narrow one.
If
