The Bride Insists by Jane Ashford Page A

to the wrong conclusion earlier today because my sisters have a habit of making mischief. I beg your pardon for shouting.”
    â€œIt’s not…”
    He hurried on, years of defensive arguments rising to his lips, weary of apologies. “It was wrong of me not to tell you about them. I do know that. It’s just… I didn’t know how to explain. I’ve never known what to do about them. You will say that they should have had better supervision. A governess or other teachers. Of course I have tried employing these.” His voice had gone accusing; he throttled it back. “The twins drove every one of them away with their pranks and intransigence. Even those who might have managed to tolerate their devilment found the condition of the house and the isolation intolerable. I looked for others, but…”
    The spate of words touched Clare. Jamie looked so harried and guilty. Yes, he should have told her about his sisters. But what had she told him about her family? Next to nothing. They’d had no time for confidences. “I can handle the twins,” she said. Indeed, she was certain she could.
    Jamie fell silent and stared at her. No one who had actually met them, in all their years, had ever said that, let alone with such confidence.
    â€œI have all the experience of a hired governess and a number of advantages over an employee,” she added. She was prepared to explain further, but he was looking at her so oddly. Meeting his dark eyes, she nearly lost herself in them. A wave of heat passed over her skin.
    Jamie had to move closer. He couldn’t help himself. His universe had narrowed to that one smooth white shoulder, exposed by the slipping nightgown; he had to just touch it. He reached out. Her skin was as he’d anticipated, like warm silk.
    A memory flashed through Clare’s mind—that moment when he’d looked straight at her and declared that he required an heir. The same flush suffused her now: self-consciousness, curiosity, a hint of desire. The brush of his fingers was like a spark to tinder.
    The scents of rosewater and lavender rose in warm, intoxicating waves around him. Jamie shifted his hand to her bright hair, lightly touching the soft strands and then letting his fingers drift down to rest on her bare shoulder again. When Clare shivered slightly, he could do nothing but bend and kiss her parted lips. They were as luscious as they looked. Grasping her upper arms, Jamie pulled his wife upright against him and guided her into a kiss that went much deeper.
    It raced through Clare like wildfire. She felt his hands on her, his exploring lips, but more than that—a shock of sensation arced down her body. It spoke for her, arching up to meet him.
    Enflamed by this encouragement, Jamie cupped a breast under the creamy silk of her nightgown, teased her with his thumb.
    It felt astonishing. Following the cues of her own desires, Clare ran her hands up his shirtfront to enlace around his neck, pressing tighter, wanting more.
    Jamie danced her back toward the great four-poster, kissing her neck, her bare shoulder, her responsive lips once again. He lifted her onto the bed, pulling at his shirt to be rid of it.
    Firelight gleamed on his skin as he loomed over her; his eyes were black as the night. Clare felt an instant’s nervousness, and then he was kissing her again, and it fell away. When he slipped his hand under the lacy hem of her nightdress and let his fingertips slide lightly up her leg, she forgot everything but the aching fire that had blazed to life at her core.
    She was lithe curves wrapped in softness, the taste of peppermint, the scent of flowers. Through a haze of desire, Jamie reminded himself to consider her inexperience, to go slowly. But when his fingers reached their goal, he found her ready. She moaned at his touch.
    Roused to a fever pitch, every inch of Clare opened to him, silently urging him to continue his delicious attentions.