the carriage. “I am an ignorant oaf and have never asked about your mother. She died when you were young?”
“Very young—she died in childbed.”
His warm hand covered hers. “Ah, my poor Drusilla,” he murmured, gently caressing her.
Drusilla was not expecting what happened next: her eyes watered, her throat tightened, and a tear slid down her cheek.
“What is this?” he asked, his voice wondering. “I have made you cry?”
“I don’t know why I’m blubbering,” she said, her voice approaching a wail.
He slid an arm around her and held her tightly. “There’s nothing wrong with crying, Drusilla. All of this has been a strain on you—on both of us.”
His kindness was the last straw. “I don’t wish to live at odds with you, Gabriel—I hate it when we quarrel.”
His expression was arrested and her face heated under his tiercel-like gaze. “I don’t wish to live at odds with you, either.”
A sob of relief tore out of her before she could clamp her jaws shut.
He leaned down and kissed away her tears. “Shhhh, ya amar,” he whispered.
She sniffed in a most mortifying fashion. “What does that mean?”
He kissed her cheek, using the tip of his tongue on the path of her tears. “My moon.”
That just made her cry harder. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what has gotten into me.”
He kissed her temple. “I know what will be getting into you.”
Drusilla gasped. Surely he could not mean . . .
He chuckled. “There, see? You are no longer weeping.”
“That was so—so—wicked.” There had to be a better word, but she could not think of it.
“Mm-hmm.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “You have a nice nose—small and with a sweet little tip that turns up.”
“Ugh, I hate my nose. But yours . . .”
“What? You like this beak?”
“Yes.” The single word somehow managed to waver and the naked desire in her voice made his nostrils flare.
“Well, there is no accounting for taste.” The carriage rolled to a gentle stop and his lips curved into a smile just before his mouth covered hers. Although she was ready and eager for his touch, he kissed her with a passionate thoroughness that left her head spinning.
When he pulled away, they were both breathing heavily. “Thank God. We are home . . . at last.”
* * *
Gabriel was so hard he was tempted to barrel into her chambers and lift her skirts. But, wisely, he gained control of himself before reaching the third floor.
He turned to her on the landing outside her room. “I will come to you in—”
“Ten minutes.”
He’d been about to say a half hour, but grinned at her answer and kissed her—hard. “Ten minutes,” he said, watching her disappear into her chambers before going to his own room.
Gabriel felt like a bull going into rut and it was a struggle to sit still and allow Drake to shave him when all he really wanted to do was burst naked into his wife’s room and mount her.
Luckily he restrained that barbaric instinct and allowed Drake to handle the razor since he could not trust his own hand. In his heightened condition he could very well cut off the nose his new wife appeared to like so much.
He recalled the husky desire in her voice, and his cock throbbed, the cool slide of the silk brocade torture against his hot, sensitive skin. Was there any aphrodisiac as potent as the stare of an eager lover? If there was, Gabriel could not think of it. Especially not a lover who managed to appear so cool and unmoved, but was really boiling beneath her icy façade.
Gabriel had no idea at what point he’d started wanting her so much; it had sneaked up on him like one of the desert storms, the sudden attacks his people called khamsins, for which there was no English translation.
He studied his puzzled expression as Drake shaved him. Perhaps it was these days of self-imposed abstinence that had heightened his desire. He had gone much longer without a lover before, of course; one did not have time to engage in bed sport in the middle of a desert war. But never had he been in such prolonged contact with a woman he desired without taking her. Something about delaying his pleasure while they became easier with each other had increased his ardor tenfold.
It also helped that she’d gazed at him with desire, rather than judgment or recrimination.
She’d looked very well tonight. The gown she’d worn, a primrose silk with a tight, low-cut bodice, flattered