Chemistry of Magic: Unexpected Magic Book Five (Unexpected Magic #5)(15)

Dare didn’t see any alarm in her expression as she watched him struggle out of the prison of his coat. Her detached scientific inspection would make him feel like a botanical specimen if it weren’t for the rose circles high on her cheeks.

“I may have tried kissing once when I was very young. I didn’t like it much. You will understand that I spend the majority of my time in my studies. I’ve not had much opportunity to be exposed to rakes who kiss in the shrubbery.”

His beam of delight should have terrified her, but she only widened her eyes.

“Then let me be your first rake. I don’t consider seducing innocents a wise investment in my time, but since you are my wife, we’ll both learn something new.” He reached for her lovely, almost-bare shoulders and encouraged her to shift closer again. He could swear she flinched—and he halted.

She was a grown woman—surely she had some notion of what marriage was about?

“Are you sure seduction is a wise idea?” she asked with doubt, using her gloved hand to move his fingers from her skin. “You have said kissing may be contagious. And I would think any exertion would return your cough. You do not need to exert yourself for my sake.”

Ah, she was just nervous. Laughing, Dare stroked the underside of her delicate chin with his less-than-delicate hand, then lifted it so he might kiss the pink on her cheekbone. “I think I can manage the kind of exertion I have in mind, and I don’t think kissing your lovely cheek will hurt. A beautiful woman should be offered tokens of appreciation for her efforts to improve the view.”

“That’s flummery,” she said in disgust, but this time, she did not move away.



Emilia clasped her hands tensely while her husband stroked her throat with his bare hand.

He touched her—and she did not feel his pain.

Perhaps the excitement he stirred in her breast overrode the perception of pain. She needed to experiment with what made her more aware of him than herself.

Breathlessly, she waited as he toyed with her hair. Still, no pain, and her heart began to pound in anticipation. The heavy braided chignon looked dreadful on her. Until now, she hadn’t cared. The big hand tugging loose her pins produced interesting shivers and made her think she should care.

If she thought of hair, she didn’t have to think about how her flesh had unexpectedly developed an urge to be caressed, or how her insides knotted with longing when her husband pressed kisses along her cheek. Her senses were too overwhelmed to encourage the dangerous connection of her gift. She was aware of the shaving soap smell just inches from her face and the sudden need to know how hard a square chin might be, or if she could feel the whiskers beneath his skin.

Until now, she had avoided male proximity and stifled any curiosity to touch and sniff.

Her husband didn’t want her to stifle her urges. Even as an invalid, his big body sprawled across the large carriage with the muscled tension and power of a lean panther, and she wanted more than anything to stroke the sleek planes of muscle.

This was supposed to be a marriage of convenience, not a visit to the Garden of Eden. Shaken, she couldn’t force her formidable mind to think this through. She simply wanted the boldness to kiss his cheek as he did hers.

But then she would want to touch his chest. Her unpredictable mind/body connection would take over. He’d panic and push away, demanding explanations, and she simply couldn’t bear it. . . .

He resolved her dilemma by taking her hand and placing it against his shirt, as if he knew what she wanted. “I’d like for you to touch me,” he murmured, kissing her nape. “It’s been far too long since a woman has touched me.”

He deliberately drew on her sympathy, she knew, but how could she resist? She needed to touch, and he wanted to be touched. With appalling fascination, she waited for the pain, for the insensible, too sensitive connection.

Tell him, a little voice whispered. But she couldn’t, not yet. She would hate it if he laughed. Or looked at her with horror. It was not as if he was the most understanding of men. But he was her husband. If he didn’t mind her touching, surely she should be allowed to, just a little.

Swallowing hard, she splayed her fingers across his linen, which ought to be safer than bare flesh. In relief and delight, she felt his heart beat and his lungs gasp for air without absorbing his pain. She wished she knew more of consumption and how his lungs ought to feel.

But his kisses provided a satisfactory distraction from her medical curiosity. Captivated by the wonder of his mouth on hers, she stroked his hard chest simply for pleasure.

His bare hand slid beneath the neckline of her gown, at her shoulder, not far from her breast. The traveling gown was meant to be worn with the pelerine he’d so casually tossed. It had been too hot to add a chemisette. She gasped as his lips pressed against the rise of her breast.

“We will be stopping soon,” she warned in a whisper, but her hand couldn’t retreat from his chest. His waistcoat was open, as usual. She could unknot his neckcloth. . . but they would be almost disrobed when it came time to change the horses.

And she really hadn’t thought any of this through. She was simply delighting in pain-free touching.

Lord Dare lifted his head enough for her to see his heavy-lidded eyes and the direction of their gaze. Emilia felt the heat rise in her breast, mottling her too-fair skin, another reason she preferred to be fully covered. Her nipples hardened, and she feared she was just as silly as any other foolish female he looked upon.