Mistress of Merrivale by Shelley Munro Read Free Book Online Page A

and she fought an impulse to lick her lips.
    “Would you like to take a turn around the garden? We could wander along the banks of the stream. The path is smooth and the moon is almost full. We won’t require a lantern.”
    “I’d like that very much.” Jocelyn pushed aside her plate, indicating readiness even though disappointment followed his suggestion. She’d thought he might whisk her off to his chamber. Masking her emotions with the ease of long practice, she smiled at her husband. It was odd interacting with him. She was acutely aware of him physically, yet he was essentially a stranger.
    He stood and helped her rise, attentive and gentlemanly. He was like his cousin in that respect, although she’d never experienced this level of longing with Melburn. Mr. Sherbourne led her from the dining room. They exited the manor via the double doors that opened out onto a terrace.
    Full darkness had fallen while they dined and, despite the moonlight, shadows loomed in parts of the garden. To their right, a loud rustling commenced, and Jocelyn jumped, moving closer to her husband in a silent request for reassurance.
    “It’s only a night creature—a hedgehog or similar.”
    “Whatever it is, I hope the creature doesn’t decide to scuttle over my feet. The outdoors looks very different at night.” Tree branches stretched out like naked limbs, leaves rustled and other mysterious sounds, scratches and creaks, made Jocelyn doubt she’d want to wander alone after dusk.
    “This way,” Mr. Sherbourne said, leading her confidently down the steps into the night.
    Away from the house, it was easier to see the stars studding the black sky and the moon hanging overhead, huge and bright. The scent of roses and a hint of lavender filled the air, mixing with her husband’s bay rum. Somewhere in front of them, a night bird called a sharp warning. She started and Mr. Sherbourne laughed.
    “Just a bird,” he said.
    “There aren’t any ghosts hanging around the manor?” Despite the lovely evening and his presence, a preternatural nippiness kept her glancing over her shoulder.
    “None that I know of,” he said. “But the servants will tell you of ghosts and spirits wandering the moors. Witches and goblins and even the odd dragon.”
    “Now you’re trying to scare me.”
    A rusty chuckle came from him. “I was aiming for romantic. Don’t most women enjoy a romantic tryst with their husbands?”
    “Yes.” Jocelyn sensed he was trying to put her at ease. He wanted her to feel happy in their marriage. The knowledge soothed her dread, and she pressed closer, her reservations about Arabella fading under his attentions. “I’ve heard it said a kiss adds to the romance.”
    He stopped abruptly and turned to face her. Shadows screened his face, making her guess at his expression. Her pulse beat a little faster. He cupped her face, and lowered his head until his breath warmed her lips.
    “Mr. Sherbourne.” She laced her hands behind his neck and rose on tiptoe to reduce the inches separating them. Their lips met, tentatively, then with decadent warmth. Heat and sensation darted along her veins, and she pressed against his chest, straining to move as close as possible. Her breasts brushed his vest, shooting awareness, yearning through her body. Proof . This area of their marriage wouldn’t prove a problem, despite the contrasting unease fluttering in the pit of her belly.
    “Leo,” he said and trailed a finger down her cheek. Then he tugged lightly on a red curl that lay against her collarbone—a tender gesture that rocked her to her toes. “Come, let us walk off our dinner.”
    By common consent, they ambled along the path hand-in-hand, the silence companionable, thoughts of ghosts fading far from her mind.
    “I peeked in on Cassandra earlier. She’s beautiful.”
    “She can be a bit of a handful, at least when she is feeling well.”
    “We’ll get along fine,” Jocelyn said. “You don’t need to worry about your