The Husband List -2 by Victoria Alexander Page A

moment.
    “Does your head ache?” Sympathy sounded in his voice.
    “Not yet,” she snapped, “but I expect it will shortly.”
    “Allow me.” She sensed him moving nearer behind her, and before she could say a word, an easy touch settled on each of her temples.
    She jumped and snapped her eyes open. “What are you—”
    “I’m trying to help you,” he said, pulling her back gently. “Relax, Gillian.” His fingers moved in slow, easy circles on her head. “I do promise not to bite.”
    “I was not particularly worried about you biting,” she murmured and kept her back straight to avoid leaning against him.
    “Pity.” He heaved a dramatic sigh. “There was a time when women worried about my bite and much more. Apparently, I have reformed.”
    “I know.” He certainly did have wonderful hands. “I know everything about you.”
    “Everything?”
    “Everything that’s important.” She tilted her head to give him better access.
    “Do you?”
    “Of course. I would never approach a man about something as important as marriage without knowing all I could about him.” Still, she had no idea he could do anything like this. Her eyes drifted closed.
    “That would be foolish.”
    “Um-hmm.” It was difficult to form a coherent sentence. She wondered if her very bones would dissolve from his touch.
    “Does your head feel better?”
    “Um-hmm.” She relaxed, leaning lightly against him, and surrendered to the remarkable feel of his fingers on her face.
    “I’m pleased I could be of assistance.” His voice was low against her ear. In some part of her mind not fogged with the pleasure of his touch she realized he’d bent his head closer, noted the intimate nature of their stance and how very easy it would be for this reformed rake to kiss her neck, her shoulders, her ...
    “Now then.” He dropped his hands and stepped away so abruptly that she struggled to keep her balance. A vague sense of disappointment washed through her. She ignored it and drew a steadying breath. “About our arrangement.”
    “Ah yes, you said you’d made a decision.” She turned toward him. “And what...” He hadn’t moved as far as she’d thought. In fact, he was less than a step away, far and away too close, and her eyes were level with his mouth. A rather nice mouth, actually, with lips full and firm and probably quite warm. Definitely a rake’s mouth—reformed or not. How many women had that mouth kissed? Caressed? Pleasured ?
    “Gillian?” A hint of a smile curved his lips as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.
    She jerked her gaze to his and barely noted the breathless note in her voice. “Yes?”
    At once the amusement in his gaze vanished, and he stared down at her as if he’d never seen her before, his eyes dark and intense and as compelling as his lips. An unfamiliar ache rose inside her. She could lose her soul in those eyes. Surrender it for the feel of his arms around her. Sacrifice it for the taste of his lips upon hers.
    “Gillian?” His voice was strained, as if he knew the longing that gripped her and shared it.
    “Richard, I...” She swallowed. “I...”
    “I think perhaps we shall suit well together as husband and wife.”
    “Your wife.” Richard’s wife.
    Charles’s wife.
    Guilt, strong and fast and hard, swept through her, catching at her chest with the impact of a physical blow. She gasped and jerked back.
    “Gillian, what—”
    She wrapped her arms around herself, whirled, and crossed the room, fighting off a mounting sense of panic. How could she even think of betraying the one man she’d ever loved? Always loved? Other men had kissed her in the years since her husband’s death, but their advances had been neither welcomed nor encouraged. But never, ever had she wanted a man’s kiss—or desired his touch. Or needed his arms around her.
    “Gillian?” Caution edged Richard’s voice.
    She drew a deep breath and willed a calm she did not feel, then turned to face him with