Chemistry of Magic: Unexpected Magic Book Five (Unexpected Magic #5)(22)

“At least we have decent accommodations,” he said, glancing at the freshened bed as if following her thoughts. He tipped her chin up and kissed her cheek. “Sleep, first, I think. We both need our strength.”

Emilia felt the annoying heat rising in her cheeks. She nodded briskly and retreated to the dressing room.

She’d gone into this marriage as a business proposition, in order for Dare to buy his family a house and for her to acquire this property and set up her laboratory. Men seldom noticed her, so she had expected her husband to do the same. She had fully anticipated that they would go their own separate ways.

She had never considered being a wife and mother. She’d given more thought to the nomenclature of a new variety of kalmia polifolia than she had to motherhood. She’d better start thinking about it now.





Chapter 7





Dare hated nightshirts. He would wake up sweating if he wore one.

The terrified look on his bride’s face as she’d caught him unfastening his fall warned him that nakedness might send her running.

Damn, this marriage business was awkward. Or perhaps it was this mortality concern that made him more aware than usual. He’d never worried about bedding a woman before. He prided himself on being rather accomplished at it.

His gut gnawed with more than unease. Feeling his breath coming in shorter gasps, he tried to stave off a spasm with more mineral water and the last of the horehound. He’d make his bride a widow too soon, he feared. He should try to create half-way decent memories so she wouldn’t spend the rest of her life regretting their marriage. How the devil did he do that?

He left on his shirt, turned off all but one lamp and dimmed it, and climbed between the fresh linens his wife had brilliantly thought to pack. He’d traveled far and wide, never paying attention to what he slept on unless it crawled, but he had to admit, scented sheets were preferable.

Anticipation had him partially aroused before she even slipped back into the room. In the lamp’s light, her silhouette inside a high-necked nightdress revealed slim hips and small bosom, but he’d already discovered them. It was her long-legged walk and the curve of her tiny waist that held his fascination now. He feared he could snap her in two, or that his rutting lust would terrify her. She turned off the one remaining lamp and became a shadow in the darkness.

He lifted the covers and she slid in, staying safely some distance away. Dare knew all wild creatures, especially women, required gentling until accustomed to confinement. He meant to start where they’d left off earlier, but perhaps he should go slower.

He wrapped his arm around that delectable waist, pulled her closer and pressed a kiss to her nape. “Sweet dreams, my lady wife.”

She lay perfectly still but didn’t pull away. “Good-night, my. . . Dare.”

He loved the sound of his name on her tongue. He’d sleep well this night.



He didn’t wake so well. A rooster crowed so loudly that Dare swore it sat on his aching head. His quick intake of breath at the pain brought a fresh round of coughing. And as his bride attempted to slip from his reach, a scream and a shout from outside destroyed any possibility of lovemaking for the nonce.

Dare reached for his travel pistol on the bedside table. His fetching bride dashed for the window. She’d braided her long black hair, and it swung down her slender back to a nicely rounded posterior. He was almost distracted from his weapon.

She shoved open the window and leaned out. “Bessie, it’s a rooster! Go back inside, and it will quiet.” She leaned out further, presumably peering past the overgrown roses on the wall. “Robert, is that you? Do you think there might still be hens in the hen house? Eggs?”

Having lived most of his life in town, Dare sighed and set his gun down. He automatically reached for his medicine bottle, but the coughing had stopped. Perhaps he needed a good shock to keep breathing. “Eggs?” he inquired with interest, feeling hungrier than usual. “Do you know how to cook them?”

“Absolutely no notion,” she admitted, pulling her head back inside. She hesitated at sight of the weapon on the table. “A pistol? Why?”

He felt a fool in a nightshirt with his hairy legs sticking out, but his bride didn’t shrink in horror. In fact, she regarded him with interest, which had the expected result. But realizing now wasn’t exactly the time to express his ardor, Dare reached into the wardrobe. “It’s best to be prepared when traveling, and I’m not much of a swordsman.”

“Do all gentlemen carry weapons?” she asked with what distinctly sounded like worry. “I cannot remember my father doing so.”

“If he doesn’t keep one on him or under his carriage seat, then his driver or footman might carry one. It’s always best to be armed.” He held his clothes to his waist when he turned back to face her.

His blushing bride was staring at the pistol as if it were a puzzle to be pondered. He’d love to know what went on behind her high, intelligent brow, but he had a notion he wouldn’t be finding out today. More accustomed to action than quizzing the females of his family, he set the clothes down and began unfastening his nightshirt. “Shall I call your maid for you?” he suggested.

She glanced up, noted what he was doing with alarm, and hastily departed. Not one for small talk was his bride, Dare noted with amusement.

Fortunately for all concerned, the hens were still about. Someone must be taking care of them. Bessie found eggs, and James knew how to cook them. Robert, the marquess’s well-trained footman, had already run into the village to procure bread, butter, and tea. No one had thought to ask for sugar, so they drank their tea bitter and ate as if starved.