Читать книгу His Makeshift Wife - Anne Ashley - Страница 2

He slowly approached the bed, all at once seeming far taller and broader in his casual attire.

His face seemed different too—younger somehow, with several locks of waving brown hair tumbling over his forehead, and there was a definite intense, almost hungry look in those grey eyes that never for a second wavered from her direction.

‘Have you misplaced something, perhaps?’ she added, all at once feeling decidedly ill-at-ease when he seated himself, uninvited, on the edge of the bed, and placed one bronzed hand so close to her that his thumb rested against her thigh.

‘Only my bride,’ he returned silkily, sending her unease soaring in an instant.

Her response was to draw up her knees and tug the bedcovers up to her chin, clutching them frantically. ‘You—you f-forget yourself, sir!’ Even to her own ears her voice sounded little more than a choked whisper. ‘Or have you forgotten the bargain you made?’

‘I forget nothing. But for appearances’ sake I felt I must at least … er … pay you a visit,’ he responded, his voice growing more and more husky. ‘So whilst I’m here I might as well avail myself of the opportunity to discover if, perchance, you’ve changed your mind and desire to become a wife in … every sense?’