and began filling it for her.
“How do you presume to know what I want?” she asked him, forcing herself to speak.
“Bacon, a poached egg, and fresh fruit from the orangery, no?” he returned blithely.
He was right, damn him.
Part of her wanted to contradict him, but then she would be the one suffering through a breakfast of food she had no desire to eat. Instead, she fixed herself a cup of tea. “That will do.”
He turned back to her, bearing a plate laden with far too much food. “Do you remember the morning not long after we were wed? We had breakfast in bed, and the raspberries were in season?”
He had placed them on her nipples and then eaten them off.
The reminder made her cheeks hot. She clenched her thighs together to stave off a wave of longing. “I do not recall it.”
Jack settled the plate before her, leaning close, his lips grazing her ear. “Liar.”
Of course she was a liar.
“How would you know what I remember and what I do not?” she asked primly, leaning away from him.
“Prickly as ever this morning,” he observed, seating himself once more before his newspaper, which had been neatly ironed and laid out for his perusal.
“Irritating as ever,” she quipped. “You do realize your cheer is misplaced, do you not? Last night will not be repeated.”
He flicked her a glance. “Hmm.”
His noncommittal response nettled. “I was deep in my cups and out of my head.”
Jack raised a brow. “Strange. I did not taste any spirits on your tongue when it was in my mouth.”
She gripped the handle of her teacup with enough force to snap it off. “You are vulgar.”
“Yet, you still want me.” He returned his gaze to The Times, as if he found their conversation uninteresting. “There is no denying it, Nellie.”
Think of Tom, she urged herself.
Safe, comforting, familiar Tom. Tom would never break her heart. Nor would he betray her. Tom loved her. She must not forget that. And she had repaid his love by giving in to her lust for Jack.
What a wretched creature she was. She had confessed the kiss to Tom, but how would she explain she had gone far beyond mere kissing? And on two separate occasions, no less?
“I also want wine and chocolate and copious amounts of cake,” she countered calmly, cracking the shell of her poached egg with a spoon. “But none of those are good for me.”
“Are you comparing me to a cake?” he asked, sounding amused. “Truly, Nellie. Methinks you doth protest too much.”
How calm he was. How sure of himself. Naturally, she had given him every reason to be so. She had given in. She had been weak.
“I am merely suggesting you are not good for me in much the same vein.” She took another calming sip of her tea.
“I would disagree, but you are wearing your stern governess look, and I daresay it does not bode well for my winning an argument with you.” He speared a hunk of pineapple with his fork and raised it to his lips.
Oh, what lips.
Even the common act of eating fruit was alluring when Jack did it, curse him.
She watched him chewing, heat flaring within her. Unbidden, thoughts of last night returned. Kissing him in the lake. Kissing him in the bath. The way it had felt for him to be deep inside her, the warm water cocooning them as they frantically sought their pleasure.
“My governess was a beastly woman,” she said, shaking herself from this mad need to watch his mouth.
“Miss Richards,” he said.
Her eyes flicked back to him, surprise pricking her. “You remember her name.”
He gave her one of his half grins. “Of course I do. How can I forget your story of having gotten even with the wretch by pouring ink into one of her boots?”
She smiled back at him before she caught herself and forced her countenance to become grave once more. “She deserved it and worse.”
“Do you not think the earthworm in her bed was worse?” he asked.
Damn his hide, did he have to remember everything?
She frowned at him, much aggrieved. “What has happened to your whiskers?”
His grin deepened as he rubbed a hand over his sharp jaw. “Gone in the usual fashion. A shave from Denning. I reckoned it was time for a change. Do you like it?”
She loved it. Moreover, she loved him. And those were two increasingly problematic facts.
“The beard suited you better,” she grumbled, looking down at her plate, although it was not true.
Jack was beautiful