Page 72 of Notorious

He pushed up onto his forearms, his face slack, his green eyes dazed. “I’m sorry. I’m crushing you.” He rolled to the side, his body abandoning hers and leaving her feeling bereft. She yearned to pull him back down on top of her. But her mind advised caution . . .

Drusilla was still embroiled in the internal debate when strong hands took her by the waist and turned and positioned her until her back was tightly nestled against his front, his hard, lightly furred chest pressed tight to her shoulders and spine. A heavy arm slid around her ribs, his hand curving possessively around one breast.

He gave a deep animal sigh of satisfaction and his thumb brushed her nipple, making Drusilla bite her lower lip to keep from making her own animal noises.

And then he fell asleep.

She lay stiffly in his embrace, listening intently as his breaths became as regular as the waves on a beach.

How could he possibly sleep? She was more awake than she’d ever been in her life. She was in a bed, unclothed, with Gabriel Marlington: the man of a thousand fantasies lying beside her. Never in a million years had she dared to hope for this—to hope for a night when he treated her not just like a wife, but like a lover—almost as a friend during that horrid supper.

A child might be forming even now as she lay in his embrace.

Tonight he’d behaved toward her as if he could imagine no other wife—as if he were pleased to have her in his arms. Did that mean he—she cut off the thought before it could even sprout. He was simply making the best of their arrangement. He was a gentleman and would not let her know what he was really feeling—which was most likely that he’d never have needed to marry her at all if he had waited only another twenty-four hours. And that he’d probably been looking forward to doing this with Lucinda Kittridge instead of Drusilla.

She jolted, the image of Gabriel doing what he’d just done to her with the beautiful Lucinda was like a mallet blow to her temple.

Gabriel twitched in his sleep and his arm tightened, his hand brushing her nipple again and turning her liquid inside. She squeezed her thighs together, thrilled but alarmed at her body’s immediate response to him. It was wonderful but . . . terrifying. When had she ever wanted somebody so much? Never. The truth was, this marriage was exactly what she’d wanted. But for him? She swallowed against the gorge rising in her throat. Drusilla was not his first choice—or even on his list of choices, most likely. He’d been forced into proposing.

He muttered something in his sleep and pulled her tight, his breathing hot and regular against her neck. It was delicious torture to lie in his arms.

Something tickled her cheek, and she reached up, stunned to find her skin wet. Tears. How was it possible to be so happy yet so miserable at the same time?

Chapter 15

Drusilla woke to an empty bed.

Bright sunlight was streaming through the windows and the clock on the nightstand said it was ten thirty.

She sat up abruptly. Ten-thirty! She blinked the sleep from her eyes and glanced around her room, frowning.

The door opened, and Drusilla squeaked, yanking the tangled sheets up around her naked chest.

“Ah, the sleeper has awakened.” Gabriel stood in the doorway, a large tray in his hands as he shut the door with one foot.

He came to a halt, an amused expression on his face.

“What—when?”

He laughed and set the tray down on the foot of the bed before fetching her discarded dressing gown and holding it open for her.

Drusilla looked from his hands to his face to her hands, which clutched the sheet up around her breasts.

“I’ll close my eyes.” He demonstrated and Drusilla scrambled out of bed, thrusting her arms into her dressing gown and then spinning around.

He was grinning down at her. “I didn’t say I’d keep them closed.”

She was too mortified to chastise him. Although why she should worry about what he was seeing this morning when he’d certainly seen everything she had last night . . .

“I’ve brought you breakfast in bed.” He gestured to her, and she climbed back in the warm bed, bolstering herself up with cushions and sitting against the carved mahogany headboard.

Drusilla looked down at the delicious assortment he’d brought. “But this is only food for one.”

He arranged the tray on her lap, his hands brushing her body as he positioned the blankets, the fresh clean smell of his damp hair teasing her nostrils, his proximity . . . dizzying.

“I’ve already eaten and ridden in the park while you slumbered. There,” he said, smiling down at her. “Comfortable?”

She nodded, her face hot beneath his solicitous stare. He was so beautiful and virile and irresistible in the light of day; it was difficult to look directly at him. So she turned her attention to her tea and fussed with the pot.