To Catch a Lady by Pamela Labud Page A

stupid—or he was baiting her. Either way, she couldn’t decide which would be the wiser action at that moment, throwing herself from the coach or pushing him out the door. Since both doors were securely latched, she had little choice in the matter. But a girl could dream.
    “Might I ask what’s prickling your temper? Are you nervous about your abilities in the marital bed? I assure you, madam, the responsibility of successful performance will be almost entirely mine.”
    Not a woman to mince words or hide her feelings, Caro blurted out. “I trust that we shall be able to do what’s necessary to conceive a child. I’m more concerned about the long hours we’ll be forced to spend together when we’re not in bed attending to our marital responsibilities.”
    “It’s simple: After you attend to your wifely duties, your time is your own. As for me, I have no designs on monopolizing your time. As you pointed out, we are not the typical couple. You needn’t worry about me forming an affectionate attachment to you, either. I assure you I’m quite good at distancing myself from emotional entanglements.”
    “Lucky, that,” Caro said. “I admit that I care no more for you than I do a stray cat. Perhaps not even as much, truth be told. After all, you’re a grown man who has the means to take care of himself, where a poor, homeless animal cannot.”
    One thing she did know for sure. The last thing she would do was form an affection for him. For, if she did, it would surely be her downfall. She would not let herself surrender to his warm, soft kisses, his most capable hands, or his strong, masculine form.
    “I expected no less,” he said. Without another word, he picked up his periodical and returned to his reading.
    Caro said nothing, but when she was certain that he was absorbed in his reading, she quickly glanced in his direction.
    He was tall and lean, and though he had a commanding presence, he certainly wasn’t a bully. Thus far, she hadn’t witnessed his treating women with anything other than honest respect and, in his aunt’s case, even admiration.
    Of course he was well dressed, but she had the sense that he didn’t care for the stiff waistcoat and tight breeches he wore. He often showed signs of discomfort, loosening his cravat, or shifting in the seat, rolling up his sleeves. After a few moments she realized that the farther away they traveled from London, the less he was the properly dressed gentleman, and the more he became the wild adventurer. More a man who lived by his wits and his skill as a woodsman and less the revered aristocrat.
    What the devil?
    Caro plucked her fan from her carrying case and began waving it furiously. Suddenly the air inside the coach had gone from warm to positively hellish.
    Ignoring her own discomfort, Caro did her best to turn her mind to more practical things. But try as she might, the memories of their tryst the night before came to mind, as well as the fact that as his wife, she would have to allow him to do what he must. She’d signed the blasted contract, after all.
    Caro forced herself to take one deep breath and then another. After all, signing a contract didn’t mean she would have to give in to the giddy excitement that had overcome her when they’d first embraced.
    She simply wouldn’t allow herself to feel anything at all the next time he touched her.
    She would not feel the sweet burn of his caress when he pulled her close. She certainly wouldn’t allow herself to become lost in his deep, urgent kisses, or melt into a quivering puddle of unquenched desire when he pressed himself against her.
    She would do none of that.
    And she certainly wouldn’t fall in love with him.
    The condition of their marriage had been simple. She was to conceive a child. Their entire relationship depended upon it.
    That thought should have terrified her.
    It certainly disturbed her.
    The thought of them together intrigued her, beguiled her, and most assuredly excited her. Caro