get away, I’ll show you the sights.”
“Oh? You can take that much time from your career for your pretend wife?”
Her sarcasm made him wince. “I’ll do my best.”
She refused to meet his gaze, staring woodenly out the window at the sinking sun. “Don’t bother. I don’t want to see the sights anyway.”
Her hands were rigid in his, which alarmed him. “But London has many grand places. We could take a boat along the Thames—”
“Which hardly compares to sailing on Lake Erie.”
Good point. “We could see the Tower of London.”
“Where they executed all the traitors?” She gave an exaggerated shudder. “No thank you.”
“Then how about the…” He wracked his brain. This was not going well. “The theater? We could see every play.”
“We have theaters in America, too, you know.” She shot him a cool look. “But if you have any hundred-foot waterfalls or wild buffalo, I’d love to see those.”
“I don’t think—” Then he caught the glint of mischief in her eyes.
Why, the little minx was teasing him. Releasing her hands, he threw himself back against the squabs. “You enjoy having me at your mercy, don’t you?”
She flashed him a decidedly impish smile. “After being told by the great Viscount Ravenswood that he’d rather deceive all his friends than be truly married to me, I’m entitled to my fun, don’t you think?”
“When you put it like that, I suppose so.” If she only knewhow eagerly he would embrace being “truly married” to her under different circumstances.
As they rode in silence, he indulged fantasies of that imaginary state. Every morning he’d wake up to her in his bed. After breakfast she would send him off with a tender kiss like the one they’d shared in the garden. At night she would transform his social duties into excuses to dance with her and hold her. Not that he’d need excuses if she were his wife—they could have their own private parties in his bedchamber with their only music the sounds of hot, naked lovemaking.
Ah, how glorious Abby would look naked, spread out on his bed. Her breasts—those same cursed breasts peeking above the edge of her gown to torment him now—would be the color of warm honey and just as sweet. The nipples would be a rosy brown, puckering up at the touch of his tongue—
“Spencer?”
“Yes?” He silently thanked her for dragging him from that idiotic fancy.
“What have you told Nat’s fiancée and her mother about me?”
“That you’re my wife. That I vowed Nat to secrecy about it, but had been waiting until you were free of family obligations before I brought you from America.”
She lifted one delicate eyebrow. “And they believed that nonsense?”
“Whether they did or not, they’ll say what I tell them to say to whomever asks.”
“I swear, why does everyone put up with your ordering them about? You make them do what you want with the most high-handed disregard for what they want.”
He’d been accused of worse. “Don’t you do the same when necessary? For instance, with Mrs. Graham—”
“You must be joking. Mrs. Graham do what I tell her? Only if I trick her into it.”
“So what did you tell her about this?”
“The truth, of course. No point in lying about it—she’d sniff out the truth no matter what I tell her.”
“And she had no problem with the scheme?”
The late afternoon sun pierced the unshaded windows to gild her pensive expression. “Actually, she’s delighted to have me play at being your wife.”
“But I got the distinct impression she didn’t approve of me.”
“Oh, her approval waxes and wanes according to your intentions,” she said archly. “As my husband, you can do no wrong; as my betrayer, you’re the devil. Since at present you’re my husband, she’s kindly disposed toward you.”
“Even though it’s only a role.”
She sighed. “She’s hoping that the role will become a reality.”
Alarm seized him. “But you
“Oh? You can take that much time from your career for your pretend wife?”
Her sarcasm made him wince. “I’ll do my best.”
She refused to meet his gaze, staring woodenly out the window at the sinking sun. “Don’t bother. I don’t want to see the sights anyway.”
Her hands were rigid in his, which alarmed him. “But London has many grand places. We could take a boat along the Thames—”
“Which hardly compares to sailing on Lake Erie.”
Good point. “We could see the Tower of London.”
“Where they executed all the traitors?” She gave an exaggerated shudder. “No thank you.”
“Then how about the…” He wracked his brain. This was not going well. “The theater? We could see every play.”
“We have theaters in America, too, you know.” She shot him a cool look. “But if you have any hundred-foot waterfalls or wild buffalo, I’d love to see those.”
“I don’t think—” Then he caught the glint of mischief in her eyes.
Why, the little minx was teasing him. Releasing her hands, he threw himself back against the squabs. “You enjoy having me at your mercy, don’t you?”
She flashed him a decidedly impish smile. “After being told by the great Viscount Ravenswood that he’d rather deceive all his friends than be truly married to me, I’m entitled to my fun, don’t you think?”
“When you put it like that, I suppose so.” If she only knewhow eagerly he would embrace being “truly married” to her under different circumstances.
As they rode in silence, he indulged fantasies of that imaginary state. Every morning he’d wake up to her in his bed. After breakfast she would send him off with a tender kiss like the one they’d shared in the garden. At night she would transform his social duties into excuses to dance with her and hold her. Not that he’d need excuses if she were his wife—they could have their own private parties in his bedchamber with their only music the sounds of hot, naked lovemaking.
Ah, how glorious Abby would look naked, spread out on his bed. Her breasts—those same cursed breasts peeking above the edge of her gown to torment him now—would be the color of warm honey and just as sweet. The nipples would be a rosy brown, puckering up at the touch of his tongue—
“Spencer?”
“Yes?” He silently thanked her for dragging him from that idiotic fancy.
“What have you told Nat’s fiancée and her mother about me?”
“That you’re my wife. That I vowed Nat to secrecy about it, but had been waiting until you were free of family obligations before I brought you from America.”
She lifted one delicate eyebrow. “And they believed that nonsense?”
“Whether they did or not, they’ll say what I tell them to say to whomever asks.”
“I swear, why does everyone put up with your ordering them about? You make them do what you want with the most high-handed disregard for what they want.”
He’d been accused of worse. “Don’t you do the same when necessary? For instance, with Mrs. Graham—”
“You must be joking. Mrs. Graham do what I tell her? Only if I trick her into it.”
“So what did you tell her about this?”
“The truth, of course. No point in lying about it—she’d sniff out the truth no matter what I tell her.”
“And she had no problem with the scheme?”
The late afternoon sun pierced the unshaded windows to gild her pensive expression. “Actually, she’s delighted to have me play at being your wife.”
“But I got the distinct impression she didn’t approve of me.”
“Oh, her approval waxes and wanes according to your intentions,” she said archly. “As my husband, you can do no wrong; as my betrayer, you’re the devil. Since at present you’re my husband, she’s kindly disposed toward you.”
“Even though it’s only a role.”
She sighed. “She’s hoping that the role will become a reality.”
Alarm seized him. “But you
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