Never Marry a Cowboy by Lorraine Heath

publication in London. I have even considered penning a complete history of my experiences in this wretched state—”
    â€œYou don’t like Texas?”
    â€œI miss England.”
    â€œThen you should return.”
    â€œI have little waiting for me there as I have here.”
    â€œThat is too shallow an answer, Mr. Montgomery.”
    â€œMrs. Montgomery, you are to call me Kit.”
    Her eyes brightened. “Say that again.”
    â€œMrs. Montgomery.”
    She laughed lightly. “I love the way that sounds.” She trailed her fingers along the curve of his jaw, the brightness in her eyes dimming. “Until this moment, though, I hadn’t considered that you’ll become a widower.”
    â€œI have told you before not to concern yourself with that aspect of this arrangement. Give me your smilesand your laughter, but never your tears, and I shall have no regrets.”
    He slid the brush through her hair. “Now on to important matters. Do you brush a hundred strokes?”
    A sly twinkle came into her eyes. “Two hundred.”
    He slowly moved the brush through her silken tresses, relishing the softness against his flesh. If she could stay awake long enough, he would gift her with three hundred. “So I have a greedy wife,” he mused.
    â€œOnly where brushing my hair and chocolate are concerned.”
    â€œYou have a fancy for chocolates?” he asked, wishing he’d known sooner. He would have given her chocolates before bed.
    â€œThey are my weakness, although my physician has ordered me not to eat chocolate.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œHe feels they will speed my decline.”
    â€œIs this physician of yours well educated?”
    She nodded, the sadness flickering in her eyes. “He is self taught, as many physicians are in the West. But still, David would only take me to the best.”
    â€œOf course. My question was unfounded.”
    â€œBut you’re bothered by my answer. I’ve accepted my destiny. Please don’t pity me or I’ll be forced to give you the tears that you don’t desire.”
    He gave a brusque nod. It seemed the longer he stayed, the less grand her dream remained. He was to make her a bride. Nothing more. He’d done his part. Why was leaving such a torment? He should be glad to be rid of her.
    He contented himself with one hundred and twenty-five strokes before turning away so she could plait her hair. Once Christopher had taken Clarisse for his wife, Kit had given no thought to marriage. His responsibilities did not include providing an heir to Ravenleigh.
    He wondered if his brother had ever brushed Clarisse’s hair. He squeezed his eyes shut, banishing the thought and all the other wild imaginings that intruded on his peace—all the things his brother had held that had been denied Kit. He refused to resent what was not his by right. A small hand came to rest on his arm.
    â€œAre you all right?”
    He opened his eyes and smiled warmly at his wife. “I was contemplating my exit through your window.”
    She tilted her head slightly. “It’s a good thing ours isn’t to be a true marriage, because no trust resides between us. You don’t need to lie. Just tell me your thoughts are none of my business.”
    Dear Lord, he found it disturbing that she somehow managed to read his moods so well. He strode across the room and jerked back the blankets on the bed. “Come on. Let’s get you into bed so I can keep my promise to David.”
    She padded over and slipped between the sheets. Kit reached for the lamp.
    â€œNot complete darkness,” she said quickly. He glanced at her. “I’ll have that soon enough.”
    He turned down the flame until its muted glow allowed the shadows to creep into the room. He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Sleep well, sweetling. I shall see you in the morning.”
    He walked to the window, moved the curtain