The Bromance Book Club - Lyssa Kay Adams Page 0,12
Countess
The seventh Earl of Latford had seen many a woman in various stages of undress in his nine and twenty years, but that had not prepared the man for the first breathtaking sight of his wife on their wedding night, looking like an angel in a sheer dressing gown.
Especially since her eyes conveyed the rather clear message that she’d just as soon bathe herself in a pig trough than feel his hands upon her skin.
Bloody inconvenient, that. Because for the first time in his life, Benedict Charles Arthur Seymour was good and truly in love.
“I will do my duty, my lord,” his new wife said, her voice flat and hands trembling as she untied the sash at her waist. Her gown floated to the floor in a pool of white silk, leaving her before him in a simple shift that robbed him of speech and thought.
Benedict ordered his feet to remove themselves from their roots in the doorframe separating his bedchamber from hers. As he drew closer to her, his heart shattered with every sign of her discomfort. The clenched fists at her sides. The shaky rise and fall of her chest. The defiant gaze that refused to look away from his.
He had done this. It was his fault.
“You may rest easy,” Benedict rasped, bending to retrieve the silky garment from the floor. Her blessedly bare feet were suddenly the most erotic thing he’d ever seen. Standing, he held the robe open for her. “I am not here for that.”
Confusion replaced anger for a brief moment in her gaze. She allowed him to hold the gown as she threaded her arms through the silk openings once again. She blushed a pale pink as he tied the sash at her waist, a liberty he should not have taken but could not resist. Dear God, just being close to her was going to destroy every shred of coherent thought in his brain.
“May I ask, then, why you are in my bedchamber?” she asked, stepping back from him.
“I have a gift for you.” Benedict pulled the small package from the pocket of his own robe.
Her eyes fell upon the plain brown paper. “I do not require a wedding present, my lord.”
“Benedict.”
“Begging your pardon?” She arched an eyebrow, a sardonic expression for such a well-bred young woman. Precisely the sort of hidden surprises that made him fall in love with her.
“We are married now. I want you to use my Christian name.” He extended the gift farther. “Please.”
A heavy sigh escaped the seam of her lush lips. “What is the purpose of this?”
“Does a husband need a reason to give his wife a present?”
“I thought I made it clear that we are not going to have that kind of marriage, my lord.”
“Benedict. And I don’t recall agreeing to any terms defining what kind of marriage we would have.”
“You established the terms of our marriage quite clearly with your accusation.”
Regret sliced through him, deepening the wound that had bled inside his chest from the moment he realized how wrong he’d been. But by the time he had learned the truth, it was too late. He’d betrayed her trust when it mattered most. “A mistake for which I will be eternally sorry,” he finally rasped.
“And this is an apology?” she asked with a glance at the gift.
“I am not so foolish as to think I can buy your forgiveness, my love. This is just a token of my affection.”
Avoiding his gaze, she carefully unwrapped the paper and opened the long, velvet box to reveal the strand of rubies and diamonds that had cost him a small fortune. Her eyes widened. “My lord . . .” she breathed.
“Benedict,” he corrected quietly. “Does it please you?”
“It is beautiful. But far too lavish for me.”
“Nonsense. You are the Countess of Latford. You should be draped in jewels.”
“Thank you, my lord.” She turned to set the box on her vanity table. “If there is nothing else . . .”
Her politeness was a cold draft in the room. He wanted the heat back, the one that had scorched between them before he’d let his pride douse it with a single, reckless misunderstanding. Benedict once again closed the distance between them. “Please, my love. I beg you to give me a chance to make this right.”
Her lashes fluttered as her pupils dilated. “To what end, Benedict?”
“A long and happy life together.”
Her slim, elegant throat worked against a nervous swallow. “I don’t believe in such things anymore.” She brushed past him and crossed